“Babysitter?” I snarl, unsure why the term pissed me off so bad when it’s exactly what I am in Rafe’s eyes. Maybe it’s because in front of all of those guys I wanted to be more than that.
“Yeah, babysitter.” She tries to step into me, use that compact little body of hers to emphasize her point, but there’s not much space between the wall and where I stand, so all she accomplishes is pushing her chest against mine, causing warning bells to fire off, but fuck if I care because the goddamn alarm’s been sounding since I couldn’t find her. “You think you can issue an apology, take me to the range, and you’re forgiven? I don’t hold grudges, Pulitzer, but I also don’t forgive at the drop of a dime either —”
“Shut up!”
“You’re arrogant and condescending and an asshole —”
“Will you be quiet?” My voice escalates with each word, bouncing off the concrete around us and coming back to me.
“No, because you —”
I don’t know what comes over me other than wanting to shut her mouth, but it must be the feel of our bodies connecting, the heat of our tempers igniting the chemistry on constant spark between us, because without preamble my fingers are in her hair, and I crush my lips to hers. Savoring her taste. Goddamn it. It’s everything I don’t want but crave all the same because it tempts me and calls on me to have more.
But by the time I realize what I’m doing, and that she’s kissing me back after the few seconds of shock pass, it’s too damn late to stop. And I don’t think I could if I wanted to. Anger and emotion fuel the kiss, plus adrenaline adds a bite of hunger that makes me not care if our lips are bruised when we part. Right now I need to answer the insanity this woman brings out in me.
So I let myself fall under the haze of the kiss with the heat around us and her soft body against mine. It’s when she slides her hands up my chest and starts to respond with more than just her lips and tongue that the reality of what I’ve just initiated seeps through the desire ruling my body.
Then I break my lips from hers, feeling completely confused about how I can be so wrapped up in this woman and at the same time despise her. Our faces are inches apart, breaths warming each other’s cheeks as her eyes tell me she’s trying to understand what the hell happened. Just like I am. It’s no use trying to explain, so I hold on to the only emotion that makes sense anymore, my anger.
“I still don’t like you,” I mutter as I turn on my heel to walk away but not before I see the shock flash through her eyes. I don’t hear her footsteps follow behind me. “You’d best be following me, because I’m not going to save your ass again, rookie.”
Two hours later, the bar is loud, the drinks are cold, and I hate that I keep thinking about Beaux. It doesn’t help that she’s sitting on the other side of the room, surrounded by men. And it’s not her fault; the male to female ratio here is almost ten to one, so I get it.
But I don’t want to wonder why exactly I care so much.
The more I watch her, the more worked up I get. She’s flipping her hair, and several times she meets my eyes above the crowd around her… because, yes, she has a crowd. She just draws people to her, and it’s annoying and understandable all at the same time. But the minute our eyes connect, that sneer returns to her lips and she averts her eyes from my gaze.
“If looks could kill, man…,” Pauly says with an audible exhale, and leaves the end of the sentence hanging.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I mutter, shaking my head when he pushes a glass of something amber in front of me. “No, thanks.”
“What’d you do to piss off the princess?”
I snort at the endearment. “Nothing. She was being stupid, and I put her in her place. Now she’s pissed at me.”